


Celebrity Status

by leviosaphoenix



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviosaphoenix/pseuds/leviosaphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, the city recoiled in fear from the vigilante.<br/>Now, they’re asking for autographs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebrity Status

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anightingale/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Skies Grew Darker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350087) by [leviosaphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviosaphoenix/pseuds/leviosaphoenix). 



> If you’ve already read Skies Grew Darker, which I just posted a little while ago, this is basically where that would have gone if I’d chosen humour instead of angst. This isn't set at any point in s3 in particular, and I really just wanted to have fun with it, so I hope you enjoy.

“Uh oh.”

Oliver’s ears prick up over the comms, freezing in his pursuit of a drug baron in the Glades. “Uh oh, what?”

“Nothing,” Felicity’s voice answers him, too quickly.

“Felicity,” he says, warningly, and she sighs.

“I’m fine,” she protests, but he’s already turning around and heading for the alley where he hid his bike. “Just… itchy.”

He frowns, hearing the sound of her burrowing around in her purse, and then she swears.

“What?” he asks, sharply.

“ _Nothing_.” He hears the sound of her high heels on the stairs, followed by the sudden swell of dance music, and wonders why the hell she’s gone up to the club during an Arrow patrol.

“Do you have a first-aid kit?” he hears her ask somebody, probably a bartender, but the slight slurring of her words is enough to convince him that speed limits were made to be broken.

“What’s going on?” he asked again, this time under the modulator, in his firmest Arrow-voice.

“I’m having an allergic reaction,” she says calmly, to him or the bartender, he doesn’t know, “and my epinephrine shot is expired.”

Everything else disappears but the road in front of him, and within thirty seconds he’s swinging through the window of Verdant. The patrons scream and duck out of his way, but he lands in front of Felicity and she doesn’t even flinch.

“Don’t freak out,” she tells him, but her swollen tongue and lips almost make the words unrecognizable.

“Call an ambulance,” he snarls at the bartender, Carl, who throws up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Already did, man,” Carl-the-bartender protests. “I can’t find our kit in our store room.”

Oliver wordlessly reaches inside the lining of his jacket and pulls out an Epi-Pen, ignoring Felicity’s expression of shock. He snaps it open, clicks the safety, and injects it into the front of her thigh, holding it there as her hand falls to rest on his.

Her wheezing relaxes somewhat, and he finally tosses the injection into a trashcan.

“My hero,” she says, dryly. “Since when does the Arrow carry an Epi-Pen in his suit?”

“Two, actually,” he admits, showing her his spare. “And since the day you mentioned that experience with a pot brownie.”

She opens her mouth to respond, eyes wide, but the paramedics are already racing in with a stretcher.

“Get out of here,” she tells Oliver, frantically. He’d all but forgotten where they were, in front of a crowd of clubbers and staff stunned into silence. “I’m fine,” she calls to the paramedics. “Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re going to the hospital,” he tells her. “Get on the stretcher.”

Felicity puts her hands on her hips, scowling. “Don’t tell me what to do, Mister.”

“Fine,” he concedes. “Will you _please_ get on the stretcher?”

She gives him a defiant look but relents, allowing the paramedics to wheel her out to the ambulance. Oliver follows them, but not before glancing back to the bartender and gesturing to all the broken glass.

“Sorry about that.”

The paramedics load her into the ambulance as she babbles about how the usual Chinese place was closed and she forgot to mention her allergy when she ordered food from the new place across the street.

“Miss, it’s very common for Chinese food to be cooked with peanut oil,” one of them sighs.

“You don’t think I know that? I’m just so used to Wong’s _not_ using it and it’s the middle of the night so I forgot,” she argues. Oliver moves to step in alongside her, without thinking about it, and the second paramedic clears his throat uncomfortably.

“Sir, um, Mr. Arrow, are you family?”

“What does it matter?” Oliver growls.

“Sir, you’re only supposed to ride in the back if you’re family…”

“Just _drive_. If anything happens to her while you’re busy dithering, I will track you down and use you _both_ for target practice.”

Both of them flinch at the venom under the voice modifier, but Felicity frowns and smacks his chest.

“Let’s go, Mike,” the first guy says, and Mike nods his agreement, jumping in the ambo as Not-Mike gets behind the wheel.

Felicity gets hooked up to a machine and Mike monitors her with Oliver’s careful supervision.

“You got medical training?” Mike asks, interestedly, and Oliver glares at him.

“Want to find out?” he sneers, threateningly, and Mike widens his eyes and drops the subject.

Not-Mike, meanwhile, is chatting into his Bluetooth headset.

“Dude. Bro, listen to me, the game can wait. Yes, it can. Guess who I’m riding with _right now_ … no, guess. Nope. The freaking vigilante!” A pause. “No, he’s all in his outfit and everything. I don’t know, he’s with that blonde again, we got called out… I know, right?” Not-Mike meets Oliver’s dangerous gaze in the mirror and the grin slides from his face. “I gotta go. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll try. Later.”

“So…” Mike begins, “do you think you could… uh… do you think we could take a selfie?”

“A selfie?” Oliver repeats incredulously, as Felicity dissolves into laughter.

“Yeah, my friends will never believe me without proof.”

“Or an autograph,” Not-Mike enthuses. “I mean, I know you can’t write your real name or anything but my little brother is your biggest fan and he’d love it if you, like, drew an arrow.”

Mike murmurs his agreement, and Oliver stares at Felicity in disbelief as she giggles uncontrollably.

“The fearsome Green Arrow,” she gasps, between laughs. “Celeb royalty of Starling City.”

He ignores them all and they take the hint, driving in silence until they get caught at a light. Mike and Not-Mike trade glances, shooting furtive looks at Oliver and Felicity, before the former gets fed up with it and sighs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Not-Mike says, driving again as the light goes green.

Felicity fixes her piercing stare on Mike, who swallows.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, you know, because of the growly thing… but you two are together, right?” His words come out in a rush, tumbling over one another. “Because I can see why he likes you.”

Felicity glances at Oliver, who is, as always, unreadable. “It’s… complicated.”

“Bro, I totally win the bet,” Not-Mike calls back.

The two paramedics fill the rest of the ride with friendly banter, and Oliver is glad that the most surreal thing he’s ever experienced is finally over.

Felicity ends up staying the night in hospital, and once cleared by a doctor, she grabs Oliver’s hand – he’s still dressed as the Arrow, and was miraculously allowed to accompany her in without _one person_ questioning it – and drags him to the newest wing of the hospital.

“I can’t believe you carry epinephrine with you because of me,” she says again as they walk. “Those things are expensive and they need to be replaced, like, every six months, which I _obviously_ don’t remember to do.”

Oliver shrugs. “You’re important to me.”

Felicity blushes. “Well, thank you,” she tells him, as she leads him into pediatrics.

Because she’s important to him, he listens when she asks him to sign a few casts and talk to a few star-struck kids in their hospital beds. He agrees to visit the oncology ward to take photos with the kids there and to declare _cancer has failed this facility_ in his trademark Arrow-voice. Mike gets his selfie and Not-Mike’s brother gets an autograph with the name _Green Arrow_ and a perfect bow and arrow, drawn with a flourish.

Oliver admits to her later – after a long session of making out on her desk in the foundry – that he worries the Arrow has lost his reputation because of her and become a softie in the eyes of the city.

“You’ve always been a softie,” she tells him affectionately, running her fingers through his hair. “But you're _my_ softie.”

He can't help but agree with her.

**Author's Note:**

> My experience with Epi-Pens comes from the brief two months I dated a guy with a peanut allergy (who, strangely enough, also works in IT…) so I apologise if I’m not completely accurate. Hope this was fluffy and mushy enough for you guys on Valentine's Day - thank you all for your support with my writing, it really means the world.


End file.
